


The Marks He Left

by foxjar



Series: Just Forget Me; It's That Simple [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: Yusuke could leave Japan; he is being provided with that opportunity. There is an infinite number of sights for him to gaze upon, to draw inspiration from. And maybe somewhere, someplace, some muse will make him love Akira a little less.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Series: Just Forget Me; It's That Simple [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900795
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	The Marks He Left

**Author's Note:**

> The story and series titles are from ["Your Own Disaster" by Taking Back Sunday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-neFa-kbas). The second part of the series will be from Akira's point of view.
> 
> There are some Royal spoilers about where each of the Phantom Thieves end up post-canon.
> 
> Daybreakers Month prompt: school life.

Everyone else has left the classroom, and yet Yusuke remains. The late afternoon sun is dissipating, casting a shadow over his easel, but still he works, his endless toil a heavy weight upon him.

His wrist aches; his shoulder; his soul. Clipped to the easel is a thick pad of newsprint atop a wooden board, and he tears sheet after sheet from it. The sound is so loud, ringing in his ears as he crumples the paper and lets it fall, dejected, to the floor.

The room smells of charcoal and paint. Usually that would be such a comfort, such a balm to his weary body. But it's borderline meaningless now as his frustration holds him, refusing to relinquish its grip. It is a torment to love so deeply, but it is also a boon. What would Yusuke have if not his love, his endless drive to create?

What would he be left with?

After class had ended, his teacher stopped him from leaving. Yusuke had his massive sketchbook tucked in his art bag, the strap slung over his shoulder, when his teacher finally approached, hands clutching a blue folder. There was a diamond design pressed onto the cover, and as unique as that had seemed at the time, Yusuke didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what any of it meant.

"Kitagawa," his teacher began, offering him the folder. "This is for you."

Yusuke just stared at the folder for a while, the strap of his art bag digging into his shoulder. If he hurried, he might be able to stop at the bakery on his way to the train station. They always had food for half off on Fridays.

"What is this?" he asked, slowly backing toward the exit. He licked his lips; he could already taste the yakisoba pan in his mouth.

"Your last year of high school is almost over. A lot of universities will be interested in your accomplishments," his teacher explained, pushing the folder toward him once again. "This university in particular. I think it might pique your interest."

Finally, Yusuke set his bag back on the floor. Food would have to wait. He thumbed through the folder, confusion twisting his face.

"This university is in the United States," Yusuke said, as if the thought of studying abroad never crossed his mind. Why would he leave Japan? How could he?

"It's a good opportunity to look into. The choice is yours, of course. But they're asking for you, specifically. I've never seen this school ask for anyone like this before."

The implication was clear: Yusuke would be looked down upon for refusing such an offer.

His teacher had scurried off, leaving Yusuke alone with his thoughts. And here he remains, sketching and cringing and snapping his charcoal, crushing it in his fingers. Dust, now. Such a waste — the paper too. What a selfish man he is, wasting so many supplies. Every piece of paper that hits the floor is a slash upon his skin, every broken stick of charcoal a punch to his stomach.

After the end of the Phantom Thieves' adventures in the Metaverse, everyone seems to have drifted apart. Akira returned to his hometown; Ann is studying abroad; Ryuji, Makoto, and Haru have all left Tokyo. Only Futaba and Yusuke remain in the city that once housed such vibrancy, such life that its very seams threatened to burst.

Whenever he visits Leblanc, it's just him and Futaba. She's tried to introduce him to her favorite video games, as well as her massive collection of doujinshi, but there's a distance that never seems to dissipate. A wedge remains lodged between them, keeping Yusuke from truly reaching out to her. He sees her mischievous grin and hears her laughter, but it's like his body has become stone. Fear grips him, and he cannot voice the words that plague both of them.

_You miss him too, don't you?_

Leblanc is hollow, but it's not as hollow as Yusuke's chest, stripped of his heart. The Phantom Thieves have fractured, been torn asunder. They are comrades still, but it's not the same, now scattered to the wind and deprived of the meaning that once held them together.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Yusuke decided to study abroad. He isn't needed; there's nothing left for him here. Futaba started high school and is making new friends of her own. And yet here Yusuke remains, anchored to the city that gave him life, hope, and love.

No matter how many times he sketches out Akira's form, it's still missing something. Some twist of passion that Yusuke lacks the ability to express. The thought gnaws at him. It feels like everyone he has tried to draw lately is Akira: every person has the same glow in his eyes, the curl on his lips, the mystery of his smile. The longer they are apart, the more he creeps into Yusuke's art, haunting him.

Yusuke could leave Japan; he is being provided with that opportunity. There is an infinite number of sights for him to gaze upon, to draw inspiration from. And maybe somewhere, someplace, some muse will make him love Akira a little less.

His hands clutch at the easel, the paper crinkling beneath his fingers. The newsprint starts to tear, and yet somehow, he isn't afraid. Not this time. His hands shake, making the easel scratch against the floor.

"Oh, Akira." He stares into the eyes of the man he loves, a paltry visage compared to the real thing. "If only you could see me now."

Has it always been this hot? He can feel his hair sticking to his forehead, tickling the back of his neck. When he relinquishes his grip of the easel, he sucks in a deep breath. Still those eyes stare back up at him, charcoal pits of love, and Yusuke trembles as he reaches for his belt. His eyes dart to the door, but only for a moment.

He is alone here with Akira.

The sound of his belt buckle is so loud in the otherwise silent room, clanging against itself. He cups the front of his pants as he stares at his sketch of Akira, marred with smeared charcoal and tears creeping along his body. So beautiful, so untouchable. His cock is so hard, so warm; he bucks into his hand before finally slipping his fingers into his underwear.

Such wetness, such lewdity. He should be ashamed, but he isn't; this Akira won't judge him. The Akira he portrays in his art possesses infinite understanding, infinite lust, matching his own. He thumbs the tip of his cock, teasing himself like he imagines Akira might. If Akira could ever love him, that is — if Akira could ever want him.

The easel screeches against the floor when Yusuke grabs onto it again, and he closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds. It's a rush to not be able to see Akira for that fraction of time, to be seen by his art but to have his senses closed off. When he closes his eyes, he can imagine that the real Akira is here: the deep hum of his laugh, the scent of coffee on his breath.

Yusuke's love gives life to his art that he never understood before. But here it is now, leading him to touch himself in his classroom, once designated for the creation of art — but no longer. He debauches himself, the room, and art itself with his lust. His cock twitches in his hand as he presses himself closer to the easel, feeling the paper against his body. It bunches up against him, likely staining his school uniform black, but that doesn't matter now. Not when Akira is so close, having become one with his art and soul.

"Akira." He moans his name like never before, rutting against the easel like an animal. His strokes are slow at first, taunting and teasing as he imagines Akira might be, but then his wrist is moving faster, faster. He's squeezing around the tip of his cock, wanting to feel more than he ever has, wanting to show Akira what he is made of.

 _Love,_ he thinks. _Burning with such intensity that I simply cannot bear it._

He pauses to push his underwear down more, his pants slipping down his thighs. His cock presses against his stomach, smearing pre-come across his skin, until Yusuke reaches down again. A full-body shiver ripples through him as he traces the tip, fingers sliding down his shaft. His hips buck into his hands as he stares at the sketch of Akira, tears building up in his eyes, but he doesn't allow them to fall.

_How tragically beautiful._

Akira's expression never changes, even as the world around him does. Yusuke runs the back of his fingers across the charcoal, smudging it into oblivion, but he has the composition burned into his memory. Everything about Akira could change — his hair, his voice, his body — but he'd still be the man who captured Yusuke in his web. The man who enraptured him with his compassion, debasing his dignity by even allowing Yusuke into his fold. His group — his family.

No one makes Yusuke feel quite as secure as Akira does. He holds him high upon a pedestal: his friend, his leader, the man he dreams of. Akira's mistakes, if one could call them that, are learning experiences. Yusuke has always watched him, nodding his head. Always learning.

It was Akira who taught him this carnal lust, his unbidden teacher. If only he knew the fire that he inspires, rippling its way through Yusuke's body as he jerks himself to the thought of him. His smile is the most intoxicating, so free and loving; so high above Yusuke, peering down at him, and yet Akira is a merciful being. He grabbed his hand that first time in the Metaverse, allowed Yusuke's body to weigh him down as they escaped, and it's like he's been leading him ever since.

He kisses the paper where Akira's lips once stood, smeared now beyond recognition. Akira is gone, leaving him to his own devices, and something about that is what finally sets him off. His orgasm winds its way through him as he strokes himself, the storm of completion making his hips shudder and shake.

_What a strange pair we make._

When he steps back, extricating himself from what he likes to think of as Akira's embrace, he sees that his come only reaches the bottom of the paper, threatening to drip down onto the easel itself. He catches it with his fingers, blending it upward with the charcoal of Akira's form. Across his bare shoulders, his tantalizing stomach, his teasingly beautiful eyes. Yusuke has seen Akira naked dozens of times when they've visited the bathhouse together, but he still lacks the skill to capture his body with adequate passion. Although he has seen Akira's nude body, he has never been able to explore it, never traced the curves with his hands.

The thought alone makes him tremble.

Never has he ever been granted such a boon, to touch Akira as he has desired for so long. And never will he.

Yusuke wipes his hands on the discarded sketches before making his way over to one of the metal sinks, the aroma of old paint hovering like a mist. The water is freezing, but his heart is warm, still thudding erratically in his chest. He wipes the charcoal from his face, but his clothes will have to wait.

While he's packing up to leave once more, he throws away the discarded sketches. But he keeps the one he threw himself upon in a fit of lust; it helped show him a side of himself that had lain dormant. After he's slung his bag over his shoulder, he gives it a tender pat.

Before he leaves, he grabs the blue folder, too. It holds so many possibilities, the realm of which Yusuke can only begin to imagine. If only Yusuke is willing to reach out and take it.

Within the folder, he might finally find salvation.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's a playlist of songs for the series.](https://foxjar.dreamwidth.org/21203.html)


End file.
